


RIFT

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: ALTER 'VERSE [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Accidental Thomas Hardy reference, Cab frottage, Child Abuse, Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, Ravishment, Swearing, Time travel but this is a spoiler so pretend you didn't read this tag, deblousing, did, rape role play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1336651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, his Alters, and Sherlock are back and ready to solve the mystery of missing twins. What about this case has John and his Alters so dreadfully upset? Sherlock puts his gigantic brain to work helping his husband and his John is by his side. Armed, of course. And dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. UH ELEVEN

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know, I am QueenodtheWIPS as much as QUEENOFTHEUNIVERSE! But I love these alters so much and I have plotted this oot. These characters write themselves so hopefully I will not leave you hanging as I have in....other works. Which WILL get finished. Promise. But...hello, Flirt needs some air time!!!!
> 
> ~Queenoftheuniverse

REMEMBER OUR ALTER FRIENDS:

\------------------------  
JOHN- Our jumper wrapped kittenish blogger, Sherlocks husband and all round good guy. Unless you upset him. Then he gets BAMF.

UNDERJOHN- The one who does not speak out loud. He helps bring the other Alters forward and creates new ones if needed.

SLEEPINGJOHN- Protects the body when it is sleeping or hypnotised. Usually has a knife under John's pillow.

HAMISH- The James Bond of the Alters. Intelligent, gorgeous, unflappable, always has something wise to say.

FLIRT- The sexy Alter who propositions anything in trousers. Up for "Fanfic character of the year" if such an award existed.[amended: Flirt flirts with anyone. Anyone at all.]

ROBIN- The alter that represents John's murdered ten year old twin brother Jack.

THEFURYANDTHEFEAR- the scary, violent, angry one that Moriarty calls "Firecracker" because...he has his reasons, okay!? Fury is the only Heterosexual Alter. (Apart from Robin who, at ten, has no designated sexuality).

JUDE- The rude French one who smokes, likes big guns, and cares about no-ones feelings. When he speaks I do asterisks (*"blah blah blah"*) cos I cannot do Italics to indicate he is speaking French.  
\-----------------------

RIFT

AN ALTERVERSE ADVENTURE

CHAPTER ONE: A eleven.

Sherlock fairly danced up the stairs to 221B. His homeless network and he had finally tracked down the Stradivarius Wiggins had "accidentally" stolen and swapped out the fake one from under the owner's nose, saving the homeless man from gaol time. Well, he did like shiny things and he had no idea the Straddy was worth so much.

"For a posh mandolin Shezza?" He had asked, incredulously. Sherlock had smiled and winked. 

"You know us upper class Wiggy, more money than sense. No more nicking items I have to slip back, okay? You could have been in really big trouble. Legal trouble. People are strange about antiques." 

Wiggins had nodded, but Sherlock rather thought perhaps he may be talking to a brick wall. Bill meant no harm, really, just had very little direction early in his life. 

And so now, back to Baker Street, to John, and maybe dinner. He had left John with the morning papers, and the possibility of a jig saw puzzle, and a new book he wanted to read. Something about cults, but a fictional one. John had had his fill of real ones, Sherlock knew, but how people loved to feel special and belong to groups, tribes, gangs, in an outside of society, "I have a secret" sort of way.

Both John and Sherlock drew the line at blood-letting cults and ones that encouraged cannibalism. And that one that carved up Lestrade's chest. That was terrible...

But apparently books about PRETEND cults and secret societies were alright.

Sherlock swept into the flat, swooping his coat off like a bullfighters cape and hanging it on the hook.

"John, I'm back, and the Straddy is where it belongs."

The silence that greeted him was not unheard of. John could be well into his book. Or napping. It was not unusual, especially after the last few months. Life with Dissociative Identity Disorder was exciting but sometimes his husband needed a rest. Just a small one.

"John?" 

Silence. Sherlock stepped into the lounge room and was instantly on alert. In mere seconds he took in the scene before him.

The coffee table was destroyed, there was newspaper scattered around the floor....and was that a boot print in the wall? A John sized boot print in fact...?

Sherlocks gaze skipped over the spilled tea and broken cups to rest on the figure laid crumpled on the floor. It was his John.

He was laying on his side, in a strange sort of question mark shape. One of his fists was clamped tight around a section of newspaper, and his head and spine curled inwards, as if protecting his middle but he had been interrupted in this motion, leaving his legs out straight. As Sherlock suspected, there was wall plaster on the toe of one of his boots.

Dropping to his knees beside his husband Sherlock further noted that there was dried blood on the knuckles of the hand that clenched the paper, and cuts on three of the four uppermost knuckles, suggesting that John had used his fist to punch the coffee table, folding it in half, strewing tea and cups and magazines along the floor.

Sherlock brushed the hair from Johns face to note that his ice-blue eyes were cracked to a slit but he was not awake. His breathing was slow and steady but his jaw was clenched and Sherlock could see John's heart pounding in his neck and chest under the tight T-shirt and black leather jacket he wore. Boots and jacket on....was he dressed to leave? If so, where?

"John?" Sherlock whispered, brushing his thumb over one of John's eyebrows. John breathed out a kind of moan, as if he wanted to say a word but it was stuck in his throat.

Sherlock was well practiced in the many men that inhabited his husbands body, and so he asked, gently:

"Who's here now? Who has control of TheBody?"

John's throat did that moany thing again and Sherlock paused thoughtfully. There was always someone there, someone in control, but right now it seemed John was shut down. Could that even happen? Could NO-ONE be in control of TheBody? 

"What's happened John..." Sherlock whispered then. He ran his hand down Johns arm and gently pried the blood stained hand open. He slid the clutched piece of paper from his husband's grip and smoothed it on the floor.

"TWINS MISSING, FEARED KIDNAPPED..."

It was just a small article, very thin on details, and Sherlock was flummoxed as to why John would freak out and kick stuff...then he realised, it was probably not JOHN but one of his ALTERS who had freaked out and kicked stuff.

Leaning back to kiss his husband on the forehead he murmered:

"Who did this...and why? What's wrong? Please, let me help you all, you know how much I love you.."

John moaned with his whole chest, and rolled his eyes. They opened and finally, FINALLY, Sherlock was looking into the eyes of the man he loved. Well, the eyes of ONE of the men he loved.

"Sherlock...." Came the tiny voice of Robin. 

"Robin...did you..?" Sherlock indicated the detestation of the lounge room.

"I tried to stop him. Promise."

"Course you did sweetheart. I know you would try your very best." Sherlock assured the little boy.

"I'm too little. Again. Too little to stop him."

Sherlock nodded. It must have been Fury who trashed the room.

"It's not your job to stop him Robin. Other Alters do that job."

"It wasn't and Alter Sherlock." Robin said, lip wobbling

"Oh God..." Sherlock panicked. Had someone broken in, assaulted John-

"It was John."

Sherlock clamped his jaw shut in surprise.

"John did this?"

Robin nodded slowly, eyes wide.

"John got so angry...and then, we all tried to stop him from leaving, and...I think we crowded him cos all of a sudden he was on the ground and none of us could get him to move..."

Sherlock nodded. The idea that Johns Alters overloaded him had merit then. And from the looks of it, it had had the desired effect. It stopped John in his tracks and Sherlock was very grateful for that. John would have been hard to find in a city as big as London, despite Mycroft's surveillance.

"What upset him Robin, can you tell me?" Sherlock asked, petting Robin's hair in a fatherly way. Robin was only ten and it seemed tonight he had been asked to be a bit more grown up than a ten year old should be. Sherlock's instincts were to sooth and calm the little boy and it worked nicely. Robin relaxed under his hand.

"The twins. The missing twins. It brought back memories of him and Jack...that's me, remember, only he called me Robin."

"I remember sweetheart." Sherlock said. "You and he were very close."

"Twins are connected in a weird way. Real weird. You know, it was hard for John when I left-"

Sherlock nodded. Robin didn't leave, he was killed. By their father. But Sherlock was not going to bring that up, despite it being a "true fact", because if John had taught him anything it was tact, and who better to be tactful to than a scared ten year old boy?

"And you think maybe this article triggered something?" Sherlock asked. Robins little face twisted.

"You know how you have a number system, and you won't leave the flat for anything under a four?" Robin asked.

"I do." Sherlock nodded.

"And ten is a locked door murder or serial killer?"

Sherlock nodded again, feeling uneasy.

"This is uh ELEVEN." Robin whispered urgently and buried his face in Sherlocks jacket.

#


	2. The game is....thingy...you know!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock visit the newly returned to active duty Greg at the yard. But snog a bit first. Cos they are married and allowed that sort of thing.

RIFT

CHAPTER TWO: The game is....thingy...you know!

John finally came back to Sherlock when the detective had him sat on their bed, ready to tend his cuts.

"Sh'lock..." He slurred, and looked up at his husband, eyes clear and bright and....John.

"Hello." Sherlock smiled, cupping Johns face in his long fingers and rubbing his thumbs across Johns cheeks. "Back with me?"

"Yes. Oh...ow..." John winced as he moved his hand. Sherlock dropped a kiss on John's head and knelt at his feet. He opened a bottle of betadine and swabbed some cotton wool.

"You punched the coffee table." Sherlock explained, gently swabbing the knuckles of Johns injured hand. John hissed as it stung but did not pull away. It was frankly very nice to see Sherlock employ some of the basic medical training he had been taught "in the field" by John.

"It had it coming." John sighed, remembering what had set him off.

"I have no doubt it did John." Sherlock said, glossy head bent to his task. He allowed himself a secret smile. John was just....too precious.

"Sherlock, I am no judge of crimes really, your scale is based on more information than I could ever have, but there is some missing twins and--"

"I was made aware." Sherlock said. "Robin told me."

John nodded. He supposed that made sense. The missing twins were also ten and it just...well it made sense. His alters new him better than he knew himself.

Johns phone pinged then with an incoming txt. John fished his phone from his jacket with the hand not being tended to.

"JOHN, I'M STILL AT THE OFFICE. WHEN WILL YOU BE HERE, OR ARE YOU WAITING FOR THE GIT? 

\- GL"

"Lestrade." John said. "I must have txt him. Apparently I--" he trailed off, looking at the txt he had sent the DI.

"GREG, THE MISSING TWINS, YOU HAVE TO LET SHERLOCK AND I IN ON THIS ONE! I AM COMING TO THE YARD

-JW"

"Ah...." He said, and read both txts to Sherlock, not even skipping the "git" bit. Sherlock still smiled. It was nice to see Greg back in full form and he was quite well aware, now, that "git" was a term of endearment.

Lestrade had only been back at work for three months. He had spent quite some time recovering from the trauma of having his chest carved into by a the human-eating alien loving cult that Mycroft, Sherlock, The Alters and TORCHWOOD had rescued him from but was evidently just as competent as if he had never taken leave. The man was incredible. No wonder he had caught the eye of Mycroft "British Government" Holmes.

Sherlock threw the cotton swab into the waste paper basket and put the lid back on the betadine. He slithered to his feet, lithe as a cat and held out his hand, hauling John to his feet.

"Robin told me this was 'uh eleven' John. Let's go down to the Yard and then, maybe dinner? I am getting a bit hungry." 

"Okay, Sherlock, I would really like that. Both things." He looked a little lost so Sherlock took him in his arms and kissed him lightly on the lips. John surged forward and kissed him deeper. There was nothing in this world better than kissing Sherlock Holmes. Those lips alone were devastating and right now, he needed them. And of course, the detective attached.

Sherlock kissed his John languidly, holding his husbands warm, compact body close to him. He smelled of leather, betadine and tea, and who knew that combination would be so lovely? He curled his tongue into Johns mouth and settled in for a lovely long snog. Anything, ANYTHING, to make his John feel better.

John hummed quietly and slid his tongue along Sherlocks. Sherlock moaned. Why was that always so very sexy, John's tongue on his? Was it the cleverness of it, the intimacy, the filthiness? Maybe all three? Sherlock decided not to ponder this right now, and sucked John's tongue deeper into his mouth, causing John to moan in that low desperate way Sherlock loved so very much...

They were a tad late to the Yard...

~

They entered Greg's office without knocking and made themselves at home on the various chairs in front of Greg's desk. Greg was just saying goodbye to Mycroft on his mobile and the boys had caught him mid sexy-growl. Sherlock rolled his eyes but John grinned. He couldn't help it, Greg and Mycroft were just so...CUTE!

"I may be sick." Sherlock commented.

"Of course you are dear." John said, and looked innocent as the Detective cast his gaze to him. 

"John Watson, I am not quite the debauched animal you constantly imply!"

"Tell that to my tongue you horny beast."

"I believe I said all I needed to say to that appendage with my own--"

"If you are QUITE finished you two." Lestrade butted in, phone call over. "I understand there is something you want to help with?"

"The missing twins Greg." John jumped right in with.

"Not my division, I'm homicide."

"I know, but there something about this. I need to be in on it." John said. Lestrade raised and eyebrow.

"YOU John? I thought--" Greg waved his hand in Sherlocks general direction.

"I go where John goes." Sherlock shrugged. "But yes, in this case, John has deemed this an eleven. I have never had an eleven before. And besides that....I was asked by someone I cannot say no to."

Lestrade knew Sherlock did not mean John, so he turned a questioning look to Sherlocks husband.

"Robin." Was all John said, and Greg made a sound of understanding.

"What do you want to do then John?" Greg asked softly, but still in DI mode.

"I just want to ask them some questions, the parents. I have...I feeling. I would like Sherlock along and I guess one of your detectives too, just to make it above board. I don't know the details I just...we all just...have a feeling.." John trailed off.

"If this has something to do with your past John then I will come with you both." Greg said softly. "No need to involve too many others, is there, and I already know most of it, yeah?"

John smiled.

"You are a good man Greg Lestrade." He said.

Greg leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Yeah, I really am."

Sherlock snorted but said nothing. He had actually noticed the aborted move Greg had made to put his hands behind his head. His chest was not as flexible as it had once been and Sherlock bit his tongue. It was hard being so...NICE all the time. John had certainly rubbed off on him, all this manners and tact...and that one time in the elevator between floors here at he Yard when he was just overwhelmed by the sexiness of Sherlock Holmes...oo, that was a pleasant memory...

"Why are you snickering?" Greg asked him.

"Dirty thoughts." Sherlock said straight faced. It was the truth, of course.

"You're hopeless." John grinned proudly at his handsome husband and Greg barked a laugh. Then he sat forward, tapping his computer, eyes reflecting the screen.

"Right, tomorrow morning, myself and PC....Wainwright will collect you from Baker Street and go over to the Hollingsworths house. You can do your thing Sherlock and then we will go from there."

"Thanks Greg."

"Who are the Hollingsworths?" Sherlock asked.

"The twins' parents Sherlock." Greg said.

"Hollingsworth? Nice English name." Was Sherlock's comment.

"Yes, they are nice English parents." Greg answered.

"I understand the boys have Sweedish first names though." Sherlock recalled the names from the article.

"Yes...Theiss and Gamelial." Greg said, reading from the computer.

"Tie East?" John asked, frowning. Not a name one heard very often.

"Tie EES" Greg amended for him.

"Interesting...." Sherlock said, already deducing. John grinned.

"The game is...?" He prodded his husband.

"The game most indeed IS." Sherlock answered Johns grin and John suddenly felt lighter. 

Everything was going to be okay now Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, Only One In The World, Invented The Job, was on the case!

#


	3. Jude, being slightly less obscure but still blatantly rude.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jude comes out with a warning that all the Alters and John and Sherlock want to ignore. Then John does dirty things to Sherlock in a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always wanted to use "cigarillo" in a fic because....Arthur Shappey, that's why!

RIFT

CHAPTER THREE: Jude, being slightly less obscure but still blatantly rude

Dinner was in an outdoor terrace of a French restaurant. Sherlock ordered for them both in French and John smiled.

"Show off." He said.

"I am always trying to impress you John, you know that."

"Never stop trying. I like it." 

John unzipped his jacket with one hand and began patting at his pockets. Sherlock ignored him to quickly access the Internet on his phone to see what else he could glean from the reports of the missing twins case. Interesting, it appeared nobody actually broke in and there was no sign of a struggle in any of the rooms of the house.....had the boys gone willingly?

John got up and murmured something but Sherlock was too distracted to answer. John was used to this of course.

It was only when, some time later, Sherlock smelled cigarette smoke that he looked up from his 'phone. John had returned and was leaning back on his chair, boots up on the railing, happily smoking an ugly brown cigarillo he had got from the offy across the road.

"John-" Sherlock inquired.

But it was Jude who smirked at the detective.

*"Oh do beg my pardon Sherlock. Smoke?"* 

The ugly packet was shoved under Sherlocks nose. Sherlock shook his head and rolled up his sleeve, tapping with one long finger at the patch that nestled on the delicate skin near his inner elbow.

*"I have given up, Jude, as well you know."* The detective said to the obnoxious Alter, who merely grinned at him, sucking back on his cigarillo like it was air through a snorkel.

*"French food in England Sherlock. What did you order John? Snails and frogs legs?"

*"Pasta."* Sherlock smirked. Jude let out a steam of smoke into the night air. 

*"Nice.*"

*"Jude, why are you here?"*

*"Hungry, my friend, and what do you know, we are at a restaurant."* Jude waved his cigarillo around.

"Christ." Sherlock swore in English. Of all the Alters he had to deal with right now, it was this sarcastic, rude, obnoxious--

*"Sherlock if I cared I would swear you didn't like me."* Jude said, flicking his cigarillo into the night and removing his feet from the railing. 

He sat forward on his arms. 

*"I am here to ask you not to take John to meet the parents of those missing boys. I would beg but you would have to work much harder for that particular delight."*

*"But John needs to speak to them. He insisted."* Sherlock said, frowning in confusion

*"John does not always know what's best for him. I...we...some of us think it will all end in tears."*

As obnoxious as Jude was he cared for TheBody, of course, but why try to stop what John really wanted?

*"Are you all in concurrence in this matter?"* Sherlock suddenly asked.

Jude looked angry.

*"Not all of us, no."*

*"It's only you then?"*

Jude turned angry to furious.

*"Your cleverness makes me shitty. I hate that about you, your...stupid big brain. And your girly hair. I cannot see what John likes in you!"*

*"So I am right, it's just YOU that objects."*

*"The others would too if they knew what was good for them but they are all stupid."* Jude spat.

*"They allowed you to have your say though."*

*"What did I say, stupid!!"* Jude spat again, like an angry cat. Then he looked crafty. *"I can stop John you know, and they know it too. All I would have to do was get arrested, thrown into a cell for a week, then we would see how far Johns little investigation would get!"*

*"Would you do that Jude?"* Sherlock asked quietly.

Jude appeared to be listening to someone else speaking, and essentially he was. The other Alters, of course. Then he said:

*"I would be in a great deal of trouble if I did that. Just....Sherlock...don't let him near those people, please--"*

Jude blinked then and suddenly John was there, screwing up his nose and dragging his tongue over his soft palate in disgust.

"Oh bloody hell, the stupid French bastard was here, smoking his fucking cigarette wasn't he!"

"He was indeed John."

"What did he want?"

"To warn us away, or more specifically, you."

"Away from what?"

"Speaking to the Hollingsworth's."

"Why?"

"The Others hauled him away before he could explain."

"Ah. Do you think he will mind if I totally ignore him?"

"Of course he would."

"I will ignore him anyway. Simply because he is killing me with those cigarillos, the French twat."

The dinner was nice, food awesome, bit of wine, and the company was wonderful. Sherlock initiated footsie under the table and John giggled a little.

"I may have had more wine than is helpful." He said.

"Cigarettes and wine, you are positively hedonistic John Watson."

"Wait till I get you on your back Sherlock Holmes, I will show you what hedonistic means!" John smiled, running just the tip of his tongue along his wine-soaked bottom lip. Sherlock flushed and grinned. 

"Dirty, John." He rumbled, and then felt Johns hand slide up his inner thigh, far further than was mannerly. Sherlock parted his thighs so as to not impede Johns progress and was rewarded with a sensuous chuckle from his husband. 

John leaned forward.

"Your legs spring open at my touch and I'M the dirty one..." He said, low and sweet into his husbands ear. Sherlock shivered. 

"John...I need..."

"You don't need, you just WANT you filthy man. And I know what you want." 

"John--"

"You want my mouth on you..." John whispered hotly, and Sherlock swallowed, well aware of the red that crept into his cheeks. "You want me to touch you..." John added, lowering his voice still more. "You want me to TAKE you--"

"Christ John yes please yes!"

"Let's go." John said, standing quickly and striding off. Sherlock struggled to his feet, threw down far too many bills and staggered after John, stride well impeded by his twitching cock. How could John walk so fast with the same impediment? Must be roomy in those jeans--

John waited at the curb outside the restaurant for Sherlock to raise his magic cab calling arm. A black cab slid up and they got in, giving the driver their address. John sat too close to Sherlock, hand slotted back into the warmness of Sherlocks crotch, letting his pinky finger gently scrape along the trousers where Sherlock's balls lay nestled. Sherlocks breath hitched a bit but John merely looked out the window. 

Scrape scrape scrape...Sherlock swallowed and opened his legs a little more. The teasing finger kept up its constant path up and down Sherlocks balls until Sherlocks lips parted and he was breathing heavy, chest rising and falling visibly under his coat. Still John did not look at him. 

"John please!" Sherlock hissed, making to grab Johns wrist.

"I wouldn't." John warned, still looking away. His finger had not even paused. Sherlock moaned a little and closed his eyes. Suddenly the whole of Johns hand cupped at Sherlocks privates, gripping both balls and some of Sherlocks hard cock. Sherlock could not help but buck into that flat palm a little, even as it clamped harder. And harder. And harder, until Sherlock's cock was pressed between his own belly and Johns palm. He whimpered.

"What IS the matter with you Sherlock?" John snapped, finally turning to gaze at his husband. Then he winked. And then Sherlock understood. It was a show for the driver. They were not alone, and what they were doing was not seemly. It was dirty!

"Too much wine....at dinner..." Sherlock gasped, almost ashamed at how much his crotch needed to rub against Johns maddeningly hard pressure.

"Do try to control yourself dear." John said then, turning away again at the oh so fascinating world outside the window. 

He began to rub at Sherlock now, encouraging the detective to rut against his palm, all without seemingly to care or even know Sherlock was doing it. And damn it but rut Sherlock did, canting his hips and making sure his hard cock met the friction of Johns steel hand until he was panting and whimpering for release.

"Please please stop John please..." He begged in a quiet yet desperately urgent whisper, throat pulse pounding.

"Why should I Sherlock?" John whispered back, still resolutely not looking but now rubbing faster and harder.

"John God please stop for the love of--"

"Or what?" John asked, low and rich.

"I will come in my pants like a teenager!" Sherlock hissed desperately, trying to remain quiet, trying to still his hips but all to no avail. John was relentless.

John turned to Sherlock, curled his fingers down between Sherlocks balls and the seat of the cab, and pressed the heel of his hand, HARD, into Sherlocks cock.

And Sherlock came. 

He shuddered and came in hot spurts, in his pants, like a prepubescent boy, trying so hard not to but wave after wave of pleasure took him, even as his mortification rose. He whimpered and gasped, staring in horror at John's impassive face even as his seed streamed from the end of his hot, hard, pulsing cock. 

When all that was left was a shivering shudder, John smiled, kissed Sherlocks mouth and said:

"Good boy."

#


	4. Things are a bit Hinky here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knows there is something about the Hollingsworth's house that is not quite right. Fury "helps with police enquiries.".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the inferences in this chapter are ikky.

RIFT

CHAPTER THREE: Things are a bit Hinky here

A little while ago John had received demon blood. More specifically, vampire blood. It had not affected any other Alter, only John, TheBody, himself, and only twice to his memory. Once was awful, he saw Lestrade and Sherlock having sex and betting over who could bed John first, and the second time was in America, when he was with The Winchesters and Sherlock's drug-wracked face came and begged him to come home.

But now, standing against the window of The Hollingsworth's lounge room, something was boiling in his blood and it made John very unnaturally still. Johns vampire blood was giving him a vision of a dark room under a trapdoor and the words HELP US whispered in his ear.

On the couch with it's back to John was Lestrade, Sherlock, and the young freckled PC Wainwright. Greg was sipping tea. Three other cups were in front of Wainwright and Sherlock. John refused to touch his at all. In fact, he had not even sat down, leaving all the questioning to Sherlock and Greg.

On the opposite couch sat Mr and Mrs Hollingsworth, faces tear strained and clasping tissues. The very thin Mrs Hollingsworth clutched the large hand of her very big husband Mr Hollingsworth with shaking, tissue-filled fingers, her eyes red rimmed, her make up streaky. Mr Hollingsworth's face was blanched white and he had dark circles under his eyes.

John didn't believe his grief for a second.

"So there was no sign of a break in?" Sherlock said.

"None." Mr Hollingsworth insisted.

"How do you know they were TAKEN then?" Greg said. 

"They are not here!" Mr Hollingsworth snapped, and Mrs Hollingsworth jumped a mile. Mr Hollingsworth soothed her with apologies and she calmed down, but seemed to lean away, just a bit. Neither Sherlock nor John missed this.

"Where did the boys sleep?" Greg asked then.

"Assuming they were in bed when taken." John said quietly, perched on the window sil, arms folded in front of him. His eyes never left Mr Hollingsworth and Sherlock took note of this. 

"They WERE!" Mrs Hollingsworth insisted. "It was way past their bed time!"

"What was way past their bed time Mrs Hollingsworth?" Greg asked, sipping the tea again. Mrs Hollingsworth cast a fearful eye to Mr Hollingsworth and clamped her mouth shut. Both Greg and Sherlock noticed now hard Mr Hollingsworth was now gripping Mrs Hollingsworth's hands. She winced but said nothing.

"We assume the boys were taken in the early morning Detective Inspector. Way past little boys bed times." Mr Hollingsworth went on.

John rubbed his forehead. He was being shown the boys bedroom in his mind now. Dark. Cold.

"You heard nothing?" Sherlock asked Mr Hollingsworth then.

"I know...I should have heard them...should have stopped it...but I was asleep, I didn't know!" Mr Hollingsworth said, distress real now. "I was asleep, I heard NOTHING!"

John believed that. Somebody had waltzed in and stopped Mr Hollingsworth's fun, fun he had been having at the twins expense, fun the boys were terrified of...

"Do you mind if we see the boys room?" Greg asked then.

"No, it's okay, please, this way." Mrs Hollingsworth said, and was only able to stand once Mr Hollingsworth let go of her hand. He stood too, following Greg, Mrs Hollingsworth and Sherlock. PC Wainwright and John came last. 

They ascended stairs to a lovely blue and white room, twin beds, books, toys, and a small ensuite. Sherlocks eyes travelled over every surface, his hands in his pockets, clenching his jaw.

"They left through this window?" Lestrade asked, indicating the window between the two beds.

"I don't think so, it's a floor up from the ground." Mr Hollingsworth said, a bit smug.

"We think they left by the front door." Mrs Hollingsworth said, ever the barrier between her husband and the world.

"There was no sign of any struggles at the front door." Sherlock said. "No sign in here either." He added, avoiding everyone's eyes as he continued to deduce the room.

"I don't believe they would leave under their own steam." Mr Hollingsworth said, casting a nervous look to John, who was staring at the ensuite. 

"Who would they trust enough to leave with voluntarily?" Greg asked.

"I think they were unconscious when they were abducted." Mr Hollingsworth said. "What are you doing?" He snapped at John, who was stomping on the bath mat in front of the tiny shower. 

"John--?" Greg asked, and Sherlock took a step towards the Doctor.

"You may leave now. There is nothing else to tell you." Mr Hollingsworth said. "I want you out of my house!"

Too late. John had shifted the bath mat and exposed a trap door in the floor of the bathroom.

"Care to explain this Mr Hollingsworth?" John said, barely containing the fury Sherlock could see in his eyes.

"It came with the house. Air aid shelter--"

"On the second floor?" Sherlock asked.

"Do you have the key Mr Hollingsworth?" Greg asked, noting that PC Wainwright had placed himself at the door of the room, barring Mr Hollingsworth's escape route. Good man.

"No, I don't believe it had a key. We have never been able to--"

"Bullshit." John snapped.

"John, settle down--" Greg warned.

"These hinges are oiled and this lock is new. Open. This. Hatch!"

Mr Hollingsworth suddenly threw his wife at Greg and turned to run. Mrs Hollingsworth screamed but was caught deftly by the DI before Mr. Hollingsworth had gone two steps. He then swung his meaty fist at PC Wainwright, who ducked the punch, came up under Mr Hollingsworth's chest and flipped the man off his feet and onto his back. Wainwright then had the man flipped on his chest, arms cuffed behind his back in a well-practiced jiffy.

"LET ME GO! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DO THIS!" Mr Hollingsworth began to roar and struggle.

"It's over Doug. It's over. Stop it stop it STOP!!!!" Mrs Hollingsworth finally screamed at her husband, and then, to everyone's surprise, she kicked her husband in the ribs with her pointy sandalled foot, causing Doug to grunt and then swear at her, calling her disgusting names that suggested she was stupid and loose with her morals, and dead without him.

Sherlock realised he was looking at a classic abuser and now held grave fears for the safety of the mans twin boys. He felt a sick terror in his chest.

And then, John stormed over. He crouched by Doug's red, furious, sweaty face and placed his hand under the man's neck. The look on Johns face was so dangerous the man stopped struggling and gasped for breath. John's hand clamped the mans windpipe and what do you know, Greg and PC Wainwright suddenly saw something interesting on the ceiling.

So only Sherlock saw Fury arrive.

"You piece of trash. What did you do to those boys?"

"Nothing! Nothing I swear--" his voice was choked off. Wainwright studied underneath his own impeccable fingernails, and Greg thought the sconces were nice, though perhaps a bit fancy for the room.

Mrs Hollingsworth wrung her hands.

"Don't kill him!" She cried. She did not love her husband but she really felt she was nothing without his care.

"Your BOYS, you slug!" Fury spat.

"They were in their room! I swear to you!"

"Yes, they were, but not this room. The one under the bathroom, isn't that right?" Fury's spittle landed on the big mans face. 

"Yes! Yes, I put them there myself the night before!

"Shackled them up, nice and tight."

"They had refused to drink the potato water, they had to learn!"

"Potato water?"

"Yes, the water the potatoes are boiled in, it's filled with nutrition, and those little ingrates refused to drink it! It was all they were having for dinner that night! Melinda drank it but the boys thought they were too good for it! They had to learn! They had to BE PUNISHED--" his tirade ended in a squeak as Furys hand effectively cut off Doug's air supply.

"Fury, don't kill him." Sherlock said softly.

"Why not Sherlock! This maggot needs to be exterminated!" Fury growled.

Doug struggled harder but nobody was inclined to step in and help, not even Melinda.

"Agreed. But legally." Sherlock rested his hand softly on Fury's rock-hard shoulder. He could feel Fury's muscles rippling under the jacket as he gripped the gasping Mr Hollingsworth. "Let him go Fury. Let him go."

Fury growled, lips clamping. Then he yanked his hand off Doug's windpipe, stood and stalked back to the ensuite.

"They key, Mr Hollingsworth." Sherlock said to Doug as the big man flopped, dragging in great gasps of air.

"Pocket....pocket!" He whispered hoarsely. PC Wainwright did the honours, digging into Doug's jeans pocket and removing a key ring with one shiny key. He passed it to Sherlock who did the right thing and gave it to Greg.

Greg nodded to Wainwright.

"Call backup, get a paddy wagon. Take these two away. Sherlock, John and I will see what's under the bathroom."

"Aye Sir." Wainwright said and was on his radio straight away.

Greg turned to Sherlock but the detective was looking at Fury. Fury was staring at the trap door as if his eyes would melt the lock. Sherlock dug through his pockets and found a torch. He looked to Greg.

"Okay...Sherlock...okay...but...?" Greg motioned to John. Sherlock nodded.

"He will want to come."

"Yes, but should he?"

"Of all the Alters, yes, he's the one we want."

"Wait...that's...not John?"

"It's Fury."

"Ah." Greg said, and then nodded. Agreeing. 

Then he stepped forward to unlock the trapdoor.

#


	5. Hollingsworth's well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg, Sherlock and John find more questions than answers in the room the boys had been kept prisoner in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight ikkyness

RIFT

CHAPTER FOUR: Hollingsworth's well

Greg took Sherlock's torch and went first, descending the wooden ladder that lead into the dark below. Sherlock nodded for Fury to go next and followed last.

Greg swept the torch around the room. Cold concrete floor, small filthy mattress, reeking bucket in the corner and, most alarming of all, two sets of shiny chains riveted into the wall and ending in lockable shackles. The stench was terrible and the feeling of fear and horror was palpable.

Sherlock knelt by the shackles and noted they had been cut, possibly with a bolt cutter or similar. Someone had deliberately cut the boys free from HERE, not the fake room above.

Suddenly, the room filled with light. Fury was gone now, and it was John who had found the light switch, a lone bulb that burned from the centre of the concrete ceiling above. The added light made the horror of the room just that much harsher.

Greg turned off his torch as John stepped forward, running his hands over the wall above the mattress. Here, there were scratches and marks. The boys had written of their desperation and terror and despair in childish scratchings, crude drawings, and here and there smears of their own blood.

"They were not kidnapped. They were saved." John said.

"By who?" Greg asked.

"Sorry, Greg, but is that a crime?" John turned to the inspector, shoving his trembling hands into his jacket pockets.

"This, here, what their father did to them down here is a crime."

"Oh for fucks sake Greg, I KNOW that. But rescuing them...?"

"Technically it is--"

"Fuck off." John shook his head. "Do you know how hard Jack and I prayed for this very thing? Huddled together in the cupboard, or under our beds, or hanging in the well...DESPERATE for someone to come and do this for us, cut us free, take us away! These boys are not going to want to come back if you find them, and I very much hope you NEVER find them."

"It's still kidnapping."

"It's a RESCUE." John insisted.

"John, I have to get my people to look for the boys, simply to see of they are not in a worse situation. We have no idea who took them!"

"What could be worse than this!?" John waved one his hands at the mattress, the bucket, the desperate writing on the wall.

Greg said nothing, eyes shining bright in the light of the bulb. He knew what was worse, had seen way worse, and John had lived it. 

"These boys have been abused for years John. They may have a victim mentality, or a Stockholm syndrome. They will need professional help and I need to know they are safe." He said softly.

"Away from here IS safe!" John insisted.

"Who knew they were here?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"What?" Greg said, derailed from making a point with John.

"In order to be rescued, someone must have known they were in here, not in the fake bedroom above." Sherlock said. "Mr and Mrs Hollingsworth knew, but who else?" He held the clipped shackles, musing.

"You don't think MRS Hollingsworth could have done it?" Lestrade asked.

"Don't be obtuse Greg, she would have gone too, if it was her. She would be just as desperate to leave, and to protect her sons. You can see how far entrenched she is in her abuse. No, it was not her."

John rubbed his head. He was shown a bright flash of blue light, a man-shaped shadow, scared boys, chains falling and then....another blue flash. But no details.

"It was just one person, a man." He said. "That's all I was given."

"Given, John?" Greg asked, confused.

"Vampire blood drops." Sherlock said, as if that was enough, and stood. "So, one other person apart from the Hollingsworth's knew the boys were here. Greg, I need to talk to Doug Hollingsworth. I only need to ask one question."

"I'll get you time, but it will have to be tomorrow." Greg said. "Now, let's get out of here. I'll get forensics in but I doubt they will find much. It will built a case against the Hollingsworth's but that would be about it."

"That's enough for now." Sherlock nodded. He looked over at John, who was crouched on the floor, one of his hands rubbing at something black on the ground. It was a perfect circle drawn in what appeared to be charcoal.

"What's that John?

"No idea." The Doctor said.

"Oh Christ, it's not demonic is it?" Greg sighed.

"No. No, but it's weird.."

Sherlock got out his kit and took a sample anyway. This was really the only physical evidence he could find. 

Then the three men climbed back out of the hole, leaving the light on and the door open as if letting the room finally breathe.

~

Sherlocks one question for Hollingsworth the next day was:

"When you went to get the boys in the morning, was the trapdoor locked?"

"Yes. I always locked it, to keep the boys safe." Doug said, oblivious to the irony of his statement.

"That's all I need. Thank you Donovan." Sherlock said then, looking over at Sally, who stood crossly against the wall of the interview room.

"That's it?" She snapped, angry that once again her time had been wasted due to Sherlock bloody Holmes.

Sherlock left the table, well aware of the the muttered "Freak" that followed his retreating figure.

#


	6. Surprise ravishment play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Flirt is here, and he tells Sherlock a secret John has never told anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of rape role play which I prefer to call "Ravishment" or "Deblousing" because that makes it a fun thing and separates it from violence.

RIFT

CHAPTER SIX Surprise ravishment play 

John was drunk.

Very very drunk. 

He knocked about in the lounge room and made books fall and caused so much noise that eventually Sherlock slid his safety glasses off his head and glared over at John from the kitchen table.

The detective had honestly not noticed just how much alcohol John had consumed tonight. In fact, he had been quite distant for the last few days, and John had been only in the periphery of his awareness. 

Now, thinking back, Sherlock recalled only one conversation the involved toilet paper and it was very short. 

And boring.

"John, must you stumble about like a demented garden gnome?"

"I am not stumbling, I am a fucking..." John said, turning to Sherlock, losing his balance and having to hold onto the chair back. "....ballerina."

"Christ John, how much have you had to drink?"

"Loads. Tons. A lot." John muttered. Sherlock stood and crossed in three steps to his John. 

"John, what's wrong?" He asked, stroking his husbands rough face. When had he last shaved? Sherlock suddenly felt awful. He had neglected his John, even though this abduction thing had obviously rattled him. The detective admonished himself. John had Alters to help him, sure, but that did not mean that sometimes he did not need Sherlock, a biologically separate human, to lean on. And no, he hadn't asked but Sherlock loved John,was a genius, observant, and he should have seen, should have REALISED...

"I'm not sure..." John said in answer to Sherlocks question, not looking at his husband, staring down at the ground between their feet, despite Sherlocks hands on his face.

"God John, I'm sorry." Sherlock said then. "Please, can I help?"

John shook his head, and suddenly tears came unbidden to his eyes. He wiped at them as if it were merely a fly, or the wind, and Sherlock caught his wrist.

"Don't..." John said. "I'm...I will be ...I'll be fine. I am just emotional...too much whiskey and not enough self control..."

"John. Is it the Hollingsworth twins case that has you so upset?" Sherlock asked, straight to the point. 

Johns eyes filled and overflowed, and he suddenly lent his forehead into Sherlocks shoulder.

"I wanted someone to save us." He said. "So much Sherlock, but nobody came. Ever. And no-one around us could help. Two little boys, helpless against such a big..big man.." Johns voice failed and he gasped one wet sob.

Sherlock clung John to him. 

He despaired for his husband and then, for himself. 

It came to him suddenly that, in his heart if hearts he had expected an "end" to Johns suffering, that he would eventually "get over it". He felt stupid now, and hated himself for thinking this. John would never simply "get over" his abuse. He got ON with his life. He dealt day-to-day, with his fractured soul and his loving husband, his job, his flat, his friends, his life, but at the core of him was Little John Watson, still being abused by his father, still having to deal with the horrid scars that still lived within him.

"I'm so sorry nobody saved you." Sherlock whispered. That's all he could say. He didn't add that the John he loved was THIS VERY John, stalwart and kind, sexy and BAMF, and that he was this John because he had had to overcome such horror. It would be like saying "I'm glad you were abused because you are wonderful" and that was NOT a message Sherlock wished to send right now.

"I'm so jealous of those boys Sherlock." John added, in a small voice. "I am jealous and angry and happy they are safe and I don't want them ever found. If someone went to all that trouble to rescue them then I am sure they are in a much better situation but Sherlock...Robin and I were in just the same situation. And nobody came. Nobody ever came..."

John broke down, clinging to Sherlocks robe and swaying, almost unable to keep on his feet. Sherlock held him up by tightening his arms and lifting.

"John, let's get you to bed."

"Don't leave me alone any more Sherlock, don't ignore me anymore, please, I need you!"

More guilt washed over Sherlock and he mentally chastised himself.

"No, John, I'll come with you. I need you too." He said, voice deep and husky. He half carried his drunken husband to their room and sat him on their bed. He once again put his hands on Johns face, clearing the tears and just...feeling him. John shivered under his hands.

"Sherlock, I feel drunk and silly." 

"You ARE drunk." Sherlock insisted.

"Why am I drunk?

"You drank a lot of alcohol."

"Oooo, aren't I a saucy one...sauced..." He broke down in a giggle and Sherlock cottoned on quite quickly that this was not John.

"Flirt..." He sighed, and Flirt nodded, eyes wide with John's shiny tears.

"Why is John crying? Did you hurt him you beast?"

"Oh Fuck Flirt, that's a loaded question." Sherlock sighed, sliding Flirts jacket from his arms. Flirt giggled and wiggled out of the jacket gladly and dropped it on the floor. He batted his lashes at Sherlock.

"Did he like it?"

"Flirt, it's not like that. I hurt his heart, not his body."

"He wants to hurt you you know." Flirt said suddenly, arching his back.

"Does he?" Sherlock asked, almost without thinking. Flirt was not know for his depth of character after all.

"Yes." Flirt insisted. "He wants to take you and do unspeakably sexy dirty things to you, with you telling him no and him ignoring you and then fucking you hard with your begging in his ears...has he ever told you that?"

Sherlock had frozen, on his knees, hands on Flirts shirt buttons. 

"He wants what, specifically, Flirt?"

"He wants to rape you." Flirt giggled. "You know, role play rape? But he does not want to tell you because he thinks you will think he's a sick prick because it's abusive and he knows what abuse is like and does not want you to think he's like that. But he is. Sometimes. In here." Flirt tapped the side of his head. Flirt leant forward, right into Sherlock's face. "He's DIRTY in here..." And Flirt tapped the side of his head again.

Sherlock clenched his jaw. Flirt was as drunk as John of course, and he could merely be just talking, but Flirt was also the sexual side of John and knew things like that, things John liked, and wanted, from Sherlock in a sexual way. But role-play rape? John had never even indicated any such thing before. He'd like to take charge, and had done so in the cab the other night, and that was wonderful and masterful, but he also liked Sherlock to take charge, he trusted Sherlock and that made the detective feel fantastic.

What would it be like, to be totally at Johns mercy, telling him no, meaning yes, and having John just take it anyway. What sort of sounds could he coax from Sherlock, what sort of voice would John use to make Sherlock do what he wanted. MAKE him beg and whimper and mewl and--

"You could call it ravishment if you want. I like that better, it's nicer." Flirt said then, fiddling with a curl at Sherlocks neck.

"It's still rape. He wants to rape me." Sherlock said, noticing how his voice hitched a bit at the word "rape". It was a harsh word for a harsh act but Sherlock found himself intrigued by the very fact it WAS harsh.

"Oh yes, and even that makes John all hot and bothered. He knows it's rape, but ravishment makes him think of your hair ruffled and shirt torn, and your eyes all wide with fear and lust. It gets him...right...here..." Flirt travelled his hand down over his chest, around Sherlocks stilled hands and down to his crotch, which he cupped and then shuddered. "See? He's hot and hard for you helpless and pinned beneath him Sherlock." Flirt whispered, hooding his eyes and then flicking them up to look at Sherlock

Who still hadn't moved.

"Oh dear, are you broken?" Flirt said, licking his lips and turning his head coyly. Then he hummed deeply, as he palmed his cock and writhed a little.

"Not..." Sherlock swallowed a sudden inrush of saliva, then continued. "Not broken. Thinking."

"Oh! Oh Sherlock, do you like that idea?" Flirt giggled. "You WANT John to ravish you? Tear your clothes and slap you and choke you and hurt you and--"

"Christ stop." Sherlock whispered, eyes fluttering closed. He swallowed over a sudden lump of need that had pushed into his throat and his beautiful cheeks flushed.

Flirt leaned forward, pressing his lips to Sherlocks ear.

"Oh my God, your filthy thing...you WANT it." He said, and Sherlock shivered. 

Then suddenly he took Flirt's lips in his own, kissing him fervently, unbuttoning his shirt and using his tongue to battle Flirts own tongue. Flirt gasped, all playfulness gone now, and kissed Sherlock back just as hard.

Sherlock abandoned Flirts mouth and bit the Alters neck, just under his ear. Flirt moaned sweetly, tipping his head so Sherlock could get better access, and Sherlock obliged, biting at all the skin there, unbuttoning Flirts shirt and caressing the skin revealed.

"God yes Sherlock." Flirt encouraged the detective, wiggling out of his shirt and caressing his own rapidly hardening cock. "Sherlock, Sherlock..." He whimpered, and Sherlock moaned and bit into Flirts skin.

Sherlock pushed Flirt back on the bed, unzipped his jeans and slid them off the Alters legs. He kicked them away, pushing his own pyjama pants down to release his own hard cock. He took hold of it and gave it a comforting tug. Then, before Flirt could even get breath for another beautiful moan, Sherlock had engulfed the Alters hard cock and was swallowing it into the wet heat that was his mouth.

"Oh god, Sherlock, yes!" Flirt hissed, closing his eyes and thrusting his hips up, ramming his cock into Sherlocks throat. Sherlock choked, and pinned Flirts hips to the bed with the hand not playing with himself. From this position he could control how much of Flirt's cock he sucked into his hot, desperately suckling mouth.

And he was relentless. He used to worry so much about only doing stuff to John but now he knew all the Alters were John he was okay with giving each one what they needed. And right now, John needed Flirt to be sexed up. Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and sucked up and down Flirts length, flicking his tongue over sensitive parts every upsweep, and leaving with the flat of his tongue on the down stroke.

And as he worked, sucking his Flirt deep to a mewling, desperate completion all he could hear was his own voice, begging John to stop, knowing he wouldn't, and loving it, needing it, wanting it, that power John would have over him, his utter helplessness...

And naturally he came too, in his hand, hot ropy streams that thudded into the floorboards with the force of his orgasm.

#


	7. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to get John to open up aboot his Ravishment Fantasy but before anything gets mentioned, John gets a strange letter.

RIFT

CHAPTER SEVEN Time

The next day, Sherlock did not mention to John what Flirt had revealed to him. He did this for two reasons. One, was to save John embarrassment, but two was just to think on it a while, work out why he found the idea so very erotic, selfishly needing to hoard this information as a little jewel in a velvet case close to his heart.

John was in a bit of pain. His head hurt and his mouth felt dry and sandy. A shower made him feel better of course, but he was still a bit rough when he sat at the kitchen table.

Sherlock slid a tea over to him.

"Thank you for looking after me yesterday. Sorry I got so.." John paused. "Emotional."

"John, it's never a problem to look after you." Sherlock said. 

"And Flirt too?"

"How did you know?"

"You do him in a way that makes my body hurt in interesting ways the next day."

Sherlock could not help but grin. After a second John grinned too.

"But John, are you okay? You have been upset for a few days and once again I am sorry for not noticing." Sherlock said then.

"I will be. It's just...you know what, I am simply glad those boys escaped and their parents will suffer for it. And yes, the wife too, she stood by and let it happen. A lesser sentence, sure, she was abused too, but still guilty." Guilt was also in Johns eyes.

"John it's okay, how you feel about this. It's okay. It's all fine." Sherlock assured him.

"I am pretty sure once the forensic evidence and confessions are collected, Mr Hollingsworth will not see the outside of prison for a long long time and that makes me feel good."

Silence settled over the two but Sherlock was ruminating desperately in his head. The main thing he was thinking, he realised, was how soon he could make it okay for John take him roughly and force him to fuck him..

But there was just one thing, and one thing only, to clear up first.

"John...I remember asking you once...your Da, he never...touched you, did he?"

John flushed.

"God Sherlock, this subject again? I have told you and I have told all my therapists. Da did not touch either of us with his hands! He found us REPUGNANT!!. He used anything else he could, any weapon to hand, and controlled us with terror. That's enough to be dealing with isn't it? Or would you rather he'd stuck his cock in us too, made sure he covered the whole rich tapestry of abuse!!!"

It was only when he looked down and saw fear in Sherlock's eyes that John realised he was standing, looming, his fists clenched as hard as his jaw, rocketing pain up his arms and down his neck. He was breathing hard and he could feel his face infused with blood.

"John...." Sherlock whispered. Sure, he was a bit scared but...after the confession last night, it morphed into a sudden intense desire to have that anger centered on his naked, writhing, perhaps restrained, oh yes, with black leather cuffs, not gagged, no, he wanted to hear himself beg for John to stop--

"What the hell is wrong with you Sherlock?" John hissed. "Why...why would you ask that!?"

Sherlock debated. Flirt told him Johns' fantasy in confidence, while drunk, and it was obvious that John did not want Sherlock to know. Which was understandable, really, because those dreams were right on the edge of "really a very much bit not good", but Sherlock loved and trusted John. Not only enough to have him ravish him, but with everything. Everything! And John had to know to trust him.

So, in for a penny.

"John, last night, Flirt told me--"

"Doctor Watson, you have a letter." Mr Hudson's voice trilled through the air as she stepped inside their flat. "Hand delivered!"

"Thank you Mrs Hudson." John said, trying to calm his face. He needn't have bothered, Mrs Hudson had a cake baking and rushed back down to tend it without even looking at either man.

John tore open the envelope without even regaining his chair. Inside was a litter and a photograph.

"DR WATSON

MY NAME IS THIESS HOLLINGSWORTH. I AM ONE OF THE LITTLE BOYS ABDUCTED LAST WEEK, BUT IN ADULT FORM. WE WILL ACTUALLY MEET ONE DAY IF YOU CONTINUE TO HUNT ME, BUT I PRAY YOU DO NOT.

I AM SURE YOU KNOW I CAN LOOK AFTER THE YOUNGER ME AND GALALIEL MUCH BETTER THAN ANYONE ON THIS PLANET. THREE YEARS FROM NOW MY FATHER WOULD HAVE KILLED LAD, LEAVING ME ALL ALONE IN THIS WORLD. 

IN THAT TERRIBLE TIMELINE, THE ONLY THING I HAD TO CLING TO WAS SCIENCE. WE WERE BOTH SO VERY BRIGHT AND IT WAS SOMETIMES THE REASON DOUG WAS SO ABUSIVE, HE WAS NOT KNOWN FOR HIS BRAINS.

SCIENCE ALLOWED ME TO RIP THROUGH TIME AND RESCUE MY BROTHER AND THE YOUNGER ME. THEN I COULD BARELY GET THE THREE OF US FROM THE ROOM, AND ENDED UP ONLY MOVING US TO A FEILD A FEW MILES TO THE SOUTH AND NOT ANYWHEN ELSE IN TIME. NOW WE ARE STUCK...GLADLY, IN THIS TIME LINE. 

LAD NEVER GOT TO SEE ADULTHOOD, LIKE YOUR JACK, IN THE PREVIOUS TIMELINE. MY WHOLE LIFE ON THAT LINE WAS DEVOTED TO SAVING MY BROTHER, AND THE YOUNGER ME, AND NOW THAT IS DONE I AM BEGGING YOU...PLEASE...DON'T TRY TO FIND ME. YOU DID, ONCE, AND IT WAS TRAUMATIC FOR MYSELF, YOU, AND THE TWINS TOO. WE ALL WANTED TO HELP YOU. WE ALL WANTED JACK SAFE, BUT IT JUST CANNOT WORK. ITS A ONE WAY DEAL, THE FABRIC OF TIME WILL NOT RIP FOR ME AGAIN.

PLEASE, WE ARE BEGGING YOU JOHN WATSON, PLEASE...LET US HAVE A GOOD LIFE AND ALLOW LAD THE RIGHT TO LIVE WITHOUT FEELING GUILTY THAT WE COULD NOT SAVE JACK.

DONT TRY TO FIND US THIS TIME. THAT WAY WILL LIE YOUR MADNESS.

YOURS IN SORROW

THEISS 

"....in the fuck?" John whispered. "This has got to be a joke."

"John...?"

John handed Sherlock the letter and looked the photo that had come with the letter. It was the two abducted boys, with healing bruises and happy faces, and a tall man of perhaps forty, with his arms around them. They all had smiles, they all looked happy, and John could, indeed, see the similarities between the little boys and the older man.

But Time Travel? Yeah, right.

"John..." Sherlock said, quietly. "If this is true..."

John passed Sherlock the photo and went to stare our the window to Baker Street below. This had to be a joke..had to be! A ruse to throw himself and the Worlds Only Consulting Detective and Brilliant Genius off the kidnappers trail.

But...Aliens, Cannibals, Vampires, God knows what most of the things he had killed in America were...all those were true. Why NOT time travel...

And if it were true...could he find that same science...use it to go back and get Robin out of the well?

Johns face drained of blood with the sheer and utter WANT of that, and then he recalled the note:

DONT TRY TO FIND US THIS TIME. THAT WAY WILL LIE YOUR MADNESS.

But...what could it hurt, just to find the three of them and ask....ask them to save his precious brother, and little John, and make him whole again...?

What could it hurt....?

#


	8. CURLY CIRCLE QUESTIONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John ponders, despite the warning, on time travel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a whole twixt chapters, but I now find myself with time and a plot. Huzzah!!

RIFT

CHAPTER EIGHT: CURLY CIRCLE QUESTIONS 

Sherlock sat back wearily, and rubbed his eyes. He had been looking into the electron microscope at the lab in St Bart's for what seemed like days but was, in fact...he checked the clock above Molly's desk...eight hours? How had eight hours passed? What had John done to entertain himself?

"John, tea please?" He asked the room, voice husky with disuse. His throat was dry and he felt a bit hungry too. Next to him was a glass of water, with bubbles so it had obviously been there a while, and a banana. Ah, kind John, of course, but of his doctor himself though, there was no sign.

Sherlock peeled and ate the banana, filling his stomach and feeling instantly more alive. He had spent his time trying to work out what the ashes on the floor of the boys prison had consisted of, and it had been hard to break it down.

Molly bustled in then, lab coat rumpled, files clutched in her arms. She had been doing an autopsy judging by the amount of fluids on the sleeve of her coat.

"Ah. Sherlock. John left about...six hours ago? Said he had something to do. I was just next door but you seemed...busy."

Sherlock nodded, standing and stretching. His back and neck were a mass of crumpled muscles. Nothing a nice long shower wouldn't fix.

"Did John say where he was going?" Sherlock asked. "I neglected to stop for dinner, has he eaten?"

"He just said he had something to do. He left you a banana." Molly said, depositing her files and stripping the filthy coat off.

"Yes, I saw. I ate it." Sherlock nodded, rolling his sleeves down and reaching for his jacket. "He must be home."

"Well....he did ask for my 'phone. It has a GPS on it, and his does not, apparently." Molly said, packing her bag to go home. Sherlock stepped instantly into her personal space.

"Molly, your phone please!?"

Molly sighed and handed the phone over. Sherlock looked through and found John had indeed looked up meadows south of the Hollingsworth's house. He ran his hand over his face.

"John....you stubborn..." He sighed, and thrust the phone back in Molly's hand. He grabbed his Belstaff and ran out the door, leaving Molly to say "Thank you Molly" sarcastically to the churned air he left behind.

~

John stood in the burned circle deep in the meadow. 

It was not completely dark, the moon was full and the night turned silver. He had found the circle through luck and following a faint burned smell. And now, shoulders curled against the cold, he stood, staring. He imagined the three figures appearing, one adult, two tortured boys. Maybe the bigger one shushed and reassured the boys, maybe he held them and calmed them. Or maybe not, the boys had probably never known kindness and gentleness from another human. Still, one can caress with ones voice and the older man probably knew that. Calmed the terrified boys, led them away to..

Where?

Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm and safe. Perhaps even out of the country...no, wait, the police were looking for the twins everywhere. So, a bolt hole somewhere..

John stopped then, drawing in a shuddering breath. God, what would he give to go back, save Jack and his younger self from....

Oh but what would he say to them, how would he convince them? He'd been so skittish and silent and distrusting as a child, he and Jack both, and for good reason. John liked to think he was a calm person now, but could he gentle and lead two frightened boys away from the only home they knew, as fucked-up as it was, and take them somewhere safe where he could raise them himself....

Well, if he could not, one of the Alters could and then they, and Sherlock, could raise...

John drew another shuddering breath. 

Right now, Christ, he had never wanted anything more then this right now!! 

He would have to find the missing Hollingsworth boys, the man who saved them, demand he give up his secret of time travel despite the warning...

And if he said no, John could MAKE him....

Johns eyes flew open. He stared I to the sky. What the hell was he thinking? Going to traumatise those little boys again by threatening the one man who could keep them safe? Jesus,those poor boys had been through enough! 

Oh but to save Robin...to have Robin back, and to sooth his younger self, give him a chance at a good life....

John shook himself. Why was he thinking about changing himself, he had a brilliant life. A useful job, a gorgeous loving husband...and a splintered phyche from abuse and torture...

Would he give all that up to save Robin?

He shivered....to have this temptation shoved into his face was unfair. How could he choose, if there actually was a chance to choose? How could he give up what he has now? 

How could he even ever think of giving up the best thing in his life, Sherlock Watson-Holmes, on the off chance he could save Robin?

But wait...if he did what Theiss did he, the John of now, would not be changed. He would stay as he is, with all he had...it was ten year old John who would have a chance at a different life, a different upbringing, a different outcome. Maybe a less traumatic life, and much less abuse...

He had to find Theiss. He had to at least ask him for help, ask him how he did it....

Ask those boys if now, they felt safe.

 

#


	9. TIME IS AGAINST US NOW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock brings John home to warmth and safety. He also has a few solutions to Johns dilemmas. Or rather, Mycroft does.

RIFT

NINE: TIME IS AGAINST US NOW

Sherlock found his John where he suspected he would, at the edge of a burned circle in the field he had googled on Mollys 'phone.

The detective approached his John, and it WAS his John, cautiously. He did not want to startle him. John looked deep in thought.

"John, I have a cab waiting, would you like to go home?" Sherlock asked, voice low and soft. He removed his gloves and gently placed his hand on Johns shivering hunched over shoulder. John barely reacted.

"John, it's cold and I am hungry you must be starved. Let's order in and eat by the fire tonight."

John drew in a shuddering breath and turned his head to face Sherlocks. His eyes were bright in the moonlight but his face was sad. 

"Sherlock--" he started, but all the words choked in his throat. It was okay, Sherlock saw all in an instant.

"It's okay. Let's go home. Let's talk there. I want to get you warm and safe." He said. "Please John?"

John nodded, turning. He leant into Sherlocks taller body and they walked back towards the road, arm in arm, until they reached the warmth of the cab and sped home.

#

Filled with Thai food, stripped down to shirts and trousers, snuggled on the couch, fire warming their toes, John began to speak.

"I just wanted to see where they landed." John said, sighing. "I just...needed to be there. I would like to have talked to Theiss, despite him warning me off."

"You want to try it too, don't you John?" Sherlock asked.

"I...I don't know...I had no idea about time travel until now. I always hoped.." John sighed, leaning against Sherlocks shoulder. Sherlock put his arm around his Doctor and kissed his head.

"It has been possible as a concept for about ten years now, I believe." He told John.

"Do you know something I don't know?" John sighed. He was never surprised by his mad Husband by now.

"I know many things you do not know John, but in this case, no, it is Mycroft and his friends in Wales that know more about it than I do. I deleted the specifics. I have no need to time travel. But John, if you wish to--"

"I won't leave you." John said. "I won't leave you and go back to stay with my ten year old self. But if...if..." He sat up, eyes bright. "What if I could come back again, bring the boys here? Would you...would you want".."

"I would gladly welcome you and your brother into our lives. But John, what if I could come back with you too? Would you...want me to?"

"Of course I would, why not?"

"Well it's a traumatic time in your history, I am not sure you would like me seeing it first hand, and John--" Sherlock paused then went on. "Time has no doubt softened your abuse around the edges--don't get angry, time does that-- but we both know how abused you were. Would you be able to stand seeing that close up?"

"I don't know. Maybe...if we could do this...we would not be there long enough to see anything. We could just grab the boys and go."

"And Harry?"

Until then John had not thought of his sister. He felt slightly sick.

"I would love to come home with her too. But when we were ten she was almost seventeen. She...she may not...she may not want to come." John tripped over his words, remembering the train wreck that was his teenaged sister.

"You mean she was well into a bottle by then." Sherlock said.

"Her now, in this timeline, drunk and...disorderly, is exactly how she was back then. She was just starting down the path, but there were times when..." John shuddered. Harry had been self-destructing for so long it was hard to recall a time when she was clean and neat and together, keeping her brothers fed and safe, making sure their mother had her pills and some quiet time.

"But...I will not leave her if I can help it." John went on, then snuggled back against Sherlock. "The point is moot anyway, Theiss said it's only one way and I won't leave you. But...I still want to see the Hollingsworth boys now, see if they are doing okay."

"Because you care." Sherlock said.

"Of course."

"And you are curious too."

"Yes."

"I am curious as well John. Imagine, in some scenarios, there would be two Sherlocks in one timeline.."

"Apocalyptic!" John smiled.

"Nonsense John, two of me would be formidable!"

John's smile turned into a grin.

"Git."

"But you have questions, and I know where we can get the answers." Sherlock went on then.

"You do?"

"Yes. Pack warmly. We are going to Cardiff tomorrow."

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes!!! TORCHWOOD!!!!


	10. A RIFT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah Jack, we have missed you so!

RIFT

TEN: A RIFT

Mycroft refused to let Sherlock and John go to Cardiff without him, and as a result, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade took a week off to drive them. Like he was going to let Mycroft go on a road trip with the Watson-Holmes' on his own!

Mycroft hired a luxury 4wd, British Racing Green, bone leather interior, built in GPS and TV's in the back. John snickered to himself, imagining a button for oil slicks, tacks and perhaps a laser gun and ejector seat. He said nothing, but he was not far wrong. Mycroft knew how to keep himself, and his family, safe.

Greg took the first go behind the wheel. He was quite happy to have escaped the Yard for a while, it was still a big ask for him to work so hard after the trauma of his abduction and torture. He did it, sure, but it was hard.

He picked a good radio station and drove steadily.

Mycroft took shotgun and his brother and John sat in the back. Sherlock happily fluffed about on his iPad, and John snuggled into the corner of the seat, staring out at the scenery, lost in his own thoughts.

"Why Wales?" Greg finally asked Mycroft.

"Cardiff, Gregory."

"Why Cardiff, you pedantic prick."

"We are going to see some old friends."

Gregs lips went thin.

"Bloody Torchwood." He said. 

He recalled the last time he had had anything to do with the mysterious organisation and it's enigmatic Captain. He had been strapped to a table in a warehouse that belonged to a cannibal cult and...something about Aliens, but he never asked. Never wanted to find out.

Greg was aware that Mycroct knew 'stuff', and with that, knew people. All sorts of people. Including a certain Captain Jack Harkness. Greg knew there was history there, between Mycroft and Jack. He had no idea there was history between Jack, Sherlock and John after the rescue.

Neither John or Sherlock were recalling that either. John was letting his mind ponder time, and Sherlock was playing Flappy Bird.

The trip was fairly uneventful. 

John drove after Greg and then Sherlock took the wheel. They stopped for snacks and toilet breaks, argued over music, played stupid car games and engaged in a philosophical argument about the galaxy expanding that soon left John and Greg in the dust.

They got into Cardiff close to sunset. Mycroft bid Sherlock park behind somewhere called 'Mermaid Pier' and then told them they would walk from there.

The wind was freezing off the water and the spray from an artificial waterfall hit them in the face.

"So where is Torchwoods office?" John asked, noting that the only building nearby was a coffee shop. A closed coffee shop.

"Just up here Doctor." Mycroft pointed with his umbrella, held secure in his leather gloved hand. He was pointing to a grey stone curb, no different from any other curb. They milled about, John blowing into his hands, Sherlock humming to himself with a frown, and Greg merely raising his eyebrows at Mycroft.

The ground lurched.

John grabbed hold of Sherlock by reflex as the curb began to sink.

"Shit Mycroft, a little warning next time?" He swore at the calm Government man. 

"But then I would not see your face as it is now." Mycroft said, and then...he smiled, eyes dancing. John could not resist smiling back. A proper smile from Mycroft was very rare indeed.

"We will allow you your little thrills Mycroft." Sherlock snorted. Johns reaction had eclipsed his small squeak of panic and he was very grateful. Only Greg had not reacted with more than a twitch. He was too interested in the walls that now surrounded them as they descended.

"Wow..." Was all he said. Then: "Is that a Pterodactyl?"

"Yes. I understand it's a pet." Mycroft said, then they all ducked as the ancient reptile dive bombed them.

"Is that them Gwen!?" Came an excited American shout from below.

"I believe your party of four have arrived Captain." Came a welsh females voice, with a bit of a smile in its tone.

"Mycroft Holmes!" Captain Jack Harkness rounded the stairs with his greatcoat flying, putting out both his hands to shake Mycrofts arm enthusiastically as the curb stone settled to the floor.

"Captain. My partner Detective Greg Lestrade." Mycroft nodded to Greg. Jack shook Gregs hand, eyes twinkling.

"VERY pleased to meet you!" He said, and winked at Mycroft. "Got yourself a silver fox Mike, nice. You are looking much better than when I last saw you." Jack added to Greg, who could not help smiling at the very handsome man in front of him. He had not been that handsome when he was rescueing Greg had he? He could not recall much of that time but this face should be memorable. It was very fetching indeed.

"And boys..." Greg turned to John and Sherlock. Instantly, John swept Jack into a very tight hug, squeezing the American's arse cheeks and making him squeak.

"Did he just..?" Greg whispered to Mycroft

"Yes he did." Mycroft said, suddenly realising exactly the sort of shenanigans these three had got up to at some stage before now.

Johns hands released Jacks luscious globes.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Captain Jack turned then, greeting Mycrofts tall detective brother.

"Jack--" Sherlock began, and the rest of his sentence was choked off when Jack swooped in a kissed him. Deeply. But quickly. With tongue. And...returned, just as enthusiastically.

"It's good to see you." Jack said, after he removed his tongue from Sherlocks mouth. He squeezed the mans thin upper arms and Sherlock blushed, but grinned. "Still together I see." Jack nodded his head to John, keeping his eyes locked to Sherlock's.

Both men showed Jack their wedding rings at the same time.

"Oh hey, that's fantastic!" Jack cried, and gave both men another hug and kiss. "Come on in, I was so happy to hear from you Mycroft, you want tea, coffee? IANTO!"

The good looking and be-suited Ianto Jones arrived with cups of coffee on a tray. He directed them to Jacks office. They nodded as they passed to the black haired Gwen and Doctor Owen who nodded back. They had been there, at the warehouse, and helped save Greg.

Jack sat behind his desk, accepting a coffee from Ianto as the other four men dragged chairs up to the desk and also accepted drinks from Ianto. 

"Stay, Ianto, I may need your help." Jack ordered, and Ianto nodded his acceptance. He went to stand at the back of the room however.

"So, Mycroft British Government Holmes....what brings you here to out humble office on the rift?" Jack asked.

"My brother-in-law requires your...particular abilities." Mycroft said, sipping his coffee. Jack turned to John, eyebrows up in surprise.

"Doctor Watson, how can I help you?"

"Jack...I need to...I have to go..." John swallowed. Now he was here, he was overwhelmed with what he needed to ask of Jack.

"John it's okay." Sherlock whispered, squeezing Johns hand.

"Jack...can you...

"He needs to use your grasp of time manipulation to go back and save his brother." Mycroft finally spat out, tired of watching poor John squirm.

Jack put down his cup, and leaned forward, face blank. He stared at John.

"No." He said, very sharply. "I won't do that John."

"But he needs--" Sherlock began, but Jack snapped up a hand, causing Sherlock to stop in shock. 

Jack stood.

"No." He said again, shaking his head.

John's fists curled in on themselves and he slowly began to shake. Sherlock thought he was going to cry and leaned forward to soothe him. Instead, Johns face turned red and he launched himself at Jack, claws out.

*"You poncy self-centred prick!"* Jude screamed, aiming for Jacks face. *"Only you go back in time!? Is that it you bastard!!??"*

Jack was able to swat Jude away from his face, minimising the damage Jude wanted to inflict, and grabbed the furious Alter by the wrists. 

*"Jude, no, it's not like that!"* Jack shouted back in gutter French, recalling just in time that he had met Jude before.

Jude tried to fight Jacks steel grip, but he could not. Jack may not be as furious as Jude but he was stronger. 

"John, stop this!" Greg shouted. "This won't get you want you want mate!"

"Jude." Sherlock hissed to Greg. "Not John."

"Christ Sherlock, THAT'S what is pertinent here!?" Greg spat, disgusted.

"It's important--"

Everyone paused then when sobbing could be heard from John. It was...no...not John. Not Jude either. Sherlock had no idea who it was, Christ not another one was it?

But no. John slipped to the ground and brought his knees up to his face, hugging his legs to him.

"Please please please Jack...please...." 

"Oh God." Sherlock shuddered, and put his hand to his mouth as if stopping his bile.

"What...who is it?" Greg asked, getting seriously worried now. Since when did Sherlock let his feelings become so public? "Mycroft?" Greg turned to his boyfriend. Mycrofts face was white and emotionless, and this scared Greg more than anything.

Jack dropped to his knees in front of John.

"John, I'm sorry..."

John lifted his tear stained face to Jacks, sobbing so hard his chest jerked, his lips stuttering with pent up sadness.

"Not John!" He said, in a tiny little voice.

"Oh god oh god..." Sherlock said under his breath, dropping to the ground near John and gathering him in his arms. "Robin, sweetheart, please....Shhh shhh..."

"Robin?" Greg whispered to Mycroft, who nodded.

"Save me..save me please!" The little boy said, staring his terrified little eyes straight into the face of a devastated Captain Jack Harkness. "Please! Please!"

"I can't John, I'm so so sorry..." Jack whispered. "I just....can't..."

#


End file.
